8018 What Does It All Mean?
by Yamamoto Ameko
Summary: 8018 Fanbook! Yes, I am writing an entire novel, starting with the beginning of their relationship and ending with their childrens' relationships... beginning... Hope you enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One – Discipline

Yamamoto lay flat on his back. The sun beat down hard on his aching muscles, and he found himself enjoying the unusual heat. Summer vacation had nearly come. Baseball practice had been particularly hard. He had flattened himself against the bench almost three hours ago, and forgotten to get up again.

He could feel himself slipping steadily away. He wanted to sleep… wanted so very badly to sleep. He knew he should be getting back home, to Takesushi, but he really didn't want to move. It was rare for him to find the chance to relax. He wanted to seize the opportunity while he could.

He had sunk so deep into the uncomfortable warmth, he didn't realize when a soft footstep announced the arrival of the greatest threat in school.

"What are you doing here, Yamamoto Takeshi?"

Yamamoto sat bolt upright, his head whipping around to find a tonfa barely an inch from his nose. He knew immediately who it must be. He lifted one hand, scratching anxiously at the base of his neck.

"Ahahaha… Hibari…" He tried not to let his voice shake.

Hibari just glared at him. There was no herbivore who irritated him more than Yamamoto.

"School is over." Hibari told him coldly, "What are you doing here?"

"Ha… well… I…"

Hibari did not give him the chance to answer as his right tonfa made sharp contact with the baseball-player's nose.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two – Raining

Hibari's head buzzed with irritation. The rain was falling hard now, slamming against his face as though trying to draw pain from him. It didn't work. It never worked. He did not feel pain.

Only frustration.

Why was it that whenever he saw that baseball idiot, he felt this way? Angry? Dazed? His thoughts made no sense after beating that man.

He was so distracted by his own feelings, he hardly noticed the gang of bulky fools surrounding him until he ran directly into one. The big man grunted, shoving him back a step into the center of the circle formed by his gang. Hibari blinked his mind clear, glaring around at them.

He knew them. He had experienced difficulties with them before. Great, lugging fools with nothing better to do with their time than mess things up for his beloved Namimori. He didn't even give them a chance to make their demands. He swept his tonfas out of his sleeves and lunged at the biggest one.

The huge man hit the ground hard, but Hibari did not turn to the others. He was not finished. The leader was not sufficiently bloodied.

He dove after the huge man. It didn't matter that he was soaked to the bone, that the rain was falling harder, that thunder surged over his head and mist was obscuring his view of his other enemies. He didn't care that there were twelve of them, all bigger than he was. His frustration had built to the point of explosion, and he needed a vent.

He had found one.

His tonfa landed with a solid thud against the man's gut. It sent him flying against a nearby wall. He struck his head and slid to the ground. Hibari was not entirely certain that the man was still alive.

He whirled on the others, swinging and weaving with their clumsy blows. Not a stroke was wasted; every blow he threw landed sharply. Their flesh slipped like butter beneath him, useless and flattened by the slightest pressure. Herbivores, every one of them. Even more so than that damned Takeshi.

It did not take him long to crush them all. As big as they were, as small as he was, they were no match for the Chairman of the Namimori Disciplinary Committee. He left them lying in the street, groaning, and continued on his way home.

He was drenched, of course. The rain was torrential, and showed no signs of letting up before dawn. Hibari was even more miserable now than he had been before the fight, which confused him. Generally, crushing a few silly herbivores made him feel better. But now he was shivering with cold, unable to see, deafened by the storm, and still quite irate. That stupid Takeshi…

He slammed his tonfa sharply into his own thigh. What was _wrong _with him?! Why couldn't he keep the baseball idiot out of his head? All he could see was the boy's nervous laugh, his hand ruffling through wild ebony hair, sparkling brown eyes in a skin darkly tanned by game and battle…

He hit himself again, and forced himself on through the rain, ignoring the light tickle in his chest and the growing cold in his bones.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three – Fever

Yamamoto dashed towards the broad eave of the nearest building, flinching at the chill as a stream of rainwater suddenly exploded on his head from the tiny roof. The storm had started too suddenly; rain and thunder, mist and broiling clouds. Standing beneath his shelter, shaking the wetness from his unruly black hair, Yamamoto laughed at himself. It was a night for Vongola guardians.

Moving hesitantly so he wouldn't tip his sword-bag out into the downpour, he peered towards the sky. It was black and gray and angry, like Hibari had been that morning. It didn't look like the storm was going to let up any time soon.

Sighing resignedly, Yamamoto sat on the cold ground and stared forwards, as though trying to part the mist with only his eyes. In his head, the fog of thought was similar to this impermeable veil that shifted before him. It was strange. Everything in his mind seemed to be Hibari…

As though that thought had summoned him, a dark figure shuffled out of the mist a little ways down the street. If his image weren't so firmly implanted on Yamamoto's brain after their battle that afternoon, he might not have recognized the figure as Hibari. It shambled almost aimlessly, stumbling through the storm, turning one way and then the next without any apparent destination. As he watched, the figure folded against the ground, shaken by a series of horrible spasms. No, the figure would have seemed much too weak to be Hibari… were it not for the tonfas held much too loosely in each hand.

Yamamoto's own discomfort was forgotten completely as he leapt out into the storm and dashed down the road towards Hibari. The boy was coughing horribly, even as he tried once more to stand. It sounded like he was attempting to expel his lungs.

Without thinking, Yamamoto knelt at his side and placed one hand on the incredibly delicate shoulder. The first thing he registered was the outrageous heat of Hibari's fevered body. The second was the chilled, damp metal of a tonfa pressed against his throat.

Yamamoto kept carefully still as Hibari raised his head to peer at him. A soft cough shook Hibari's delicate frame as he worked to focus his clouded blue eyes on his savior.

"Takeshi…" He whispered, his voice rasping and barely audible in a throat torn by coughing. Yamamoto barely had time to catch him before he fainted.

He stared at the Disciplinary Committee Chairman, lying limp and helpless in his arms. Usually, the young man seemed so incredibly fierce, his beauty too masked by violence to be truly appreciated. But looking at him now, Yamamoto recognized that quiet elegance. There was a certain quiet innocence about the almost feminine fragility of his body, the straightness of his features. His hair was plastered to his wan face by the shattering rainfall, his long lashes playing light shadows across his haunted cheeks. His clothing clung to the sharply defined muscles on his chest and arms. As Yamamoto watched, Hibari's tonfas clattered to the ground.

It was that sound that shattered Yamamoto's reverie. No longer caught up in Hibari's sleeping beauty, he recognized the clear signs of danger. Breath too fast, pulse racing, cheeks flushed while the rest of him was paler than death. His body was much too hot, burning against Yamamoto's bare arms, but he shivered with the splash of every drop of water.

Moving with unusual haste, Yamamoto swung Hibari up off the ground, snatching the tonfas as he moved. One minute he was standing in the rain, cradling the horribly sick Chairman of the Disciplinary Committee, and the next he was dashing down the street towards Namimori General Hospital.

The admission had been quick, more efficient than Yamamoto could have hoped for. The hospital worked like a well-oiled machine; like a box weapon with just the right amount of pure flames. Barely a minute had passed since he had crashed through the door, cradling Hibari, calling for help, and they had already swept Hibari away and guided Yamamoto to a seat in the waiting room.

They had set him up with a cup of steaming tea and some hot onigiri. They had given him some sweatpants and a jacket from the gift shop, to wear until they had dried out his clothes. He was warm again, out of any danger they might have thought he was in. But by no means he was comfortable. He couldn't stop thinking about how beautiful the weakened Hibari had been.

Time seemed to move in slow motion there. People walked by him with barely a glance, buried in their own charts or absorbed in their own difficulties. Was no one aware of who he was? Why he was here? Could no one tell him if Hibari was still alive?

Doctor after doctor, nurse after nurse, passed him without even a glance. Yamamoto got ever more nervous, jumping at the slightest sound. Even in battle, he was never so aware of his surroundings. Every tick of the clock seemed louder than the thunder outside.

He was so nervous, so distracted by every sound, that when a young doctor's hand came down on his strong shoulder he leapt straight out of his chair.

"Are you the one who brought Kyoya in?" The man asked. Yamamoto was blind to his face, to the name on his badge. All he could see was the stiff mouth, forming Hibari's name.

"Yes," He gasped, "Is he alright?!"

"Fine." The doctor laughed, "Kyoya comes in here fairly often with these fevers. His health is delicate. We got to him in time; that's all that matters."

Yamamoto had stopped listening at "fine".

"Can I see him?"

The doctor hesitated. His surprise; and the reason for it; was clear. No one _wanted _to see the Chairman of the Disciplinary Committee.

"Alright," He murmured, turning towards the door at the back of the room, "Follow me."

His heart leapt as the doctor turned, leading him across the waiting room and opening the door. The hall passed in a blur; he didn't see any of the sick, the dying. The nurses and doctors running all around him, faces creased with worry for their patients. He noticed none of them, until they came upon a crowd at the end of a hall, gathered around a single door. They whispered among themselves, peering apprehensively into the room, as though terrified that the patient within might wake up.

"Everybody out of the way!" The doctor who was leading him shouted, coming to a sudden halt at the edge of the crowd. The pack parted, and he waved Yamamoto through, unwilling to get any closer to Hibari.

Yamamoto moved instantly, dashing through the crowd and into Hibari's room. Someone closed the door behind him.

The moment of silence that followed was unnatural in every way. Yamamoto felt as though his breath had been stolen, but somehow also as though he no longer had need for it. Standing against the wall, staring at Hibari, the rest of the world seemed totally insignificant.

The boy was sound asleep, half of his face concealed by an oxygen mask. His breathing, though rougher than it had been, was steady once more. His face was totally peaceful. His damp black hair flopped down over closed eyes. He looked helpless and beautiful, as he never had before.

Moving as quietly as he could, Yamamoto crossed the room. There was a chair near his head, and Yamamoto sank into it gratefully. He couldn't take his eyes from Hibari's prone form. Surrounded by tubes and beeping monitors… this wasn't how Hibari was supposed to be. The Vongola family ace. The strong one. The Guardian no one could beat, no one could contain. He was too wrapped up, too restricted, by all the white lines of the machinery. Yamamoto had to force himself not to rip it all away in his desperation to see the old Hibari again.

Enchanted by Hibari's helplessness, and yet enraged by it, Yamamoto sat in conflict for hours, watching the Chairman's sleeping face.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four – Dawn

The warm light tickled against Hibari's cheek, lifting him slowly from a very deep sleep and comfortable dreams. As the barely defined dream of love and happiness faded into the back of his mind, he began to feel his surroundings, sensing everything which was going on around him with an acute detail available only to the most powerful of carnivores.

The first thing he was aware of, in all directions and in all forms, was confinement. A small bed, with cold metal railings on either side. Heavy blankets compressing his small body into the thick, too-soft mattress. Tubes and wires stuck into him, trailing off to various machines against the wall to either side. The steady dripping of an IV, feeding him fluids without his consent. Nothing like the open air of his rooftop above Namimori Middle. Exactly the opposite.

Drowsy as he was, his irritation barely registered. His mind seemed separate from it, considering everything with a removed tranquility to which he was unaccustomed. While part of him raged over the captivity, another part was analyzing the rest of the room, sensing its size and the obstacles within it. Especially those standing between him and the open window.

He could feel and hear the breeze rippling through the space between him and the portal to freedom, and knew that it must be at least five feet away. Paper rustling told him that there was a table between his bed and the window, which probably meant some sort of chair. The soft rustling of leaves against glass also suggested that there was some form of bouquet in a vase at thee edge of the table. All standard forms of decoration for the hospital room of a sick boy; at least, they were when the sick boy had anyone who might leave them such gifts.

But he did not bother thinking about that. What his mind focused on, most of all, was the fact that a living, breathing; or rather, snoring; human being was not generally part of the hospital decorations.

Without really thinking about it, Hibari let his eyes slide open.

For a moment, his limbs felt too heavy to move. His neck could not seem to support the weight of his head, and he lay perfectly still, gathering strength for the surge it would take to prop himself up on the mound of pillows he was leaning against. He hated feeling this weak… but then, it was something he was also accustomed to.

And then, groaning at the effort and the slight, tingling pain in his chest, Hibari heaved himself upright to gaze at the intruder flopped over on top of his feet.

As he had suspected from the strange, musky scent in the air, it was Yamamoto Takeshi who lay sleeping across his bed. Yamamoto Takeshi, looking slightly more disheveled than usual, dressed in a pair of baggy sweatpants and a T-Shirt three sizes too large. Yamamoto Takeshi, eyes framed by the deep purple shadows of exhaustion, lines of worry between his closed eyes, his anxieties remembered even in sleep. Yamamoto Takeshi, watching over Hibari, without any reason to be doing so…

Hibari's hand moved without his bidding, reaching out to trace with ethereal lightness the firm, hard lines of Yamamoto's jaw. The dark skin was rougher than he had expected; long hours of playing in the sun had colored it, but long hours of fighting in the sun had taken away the smoothness of youth. Yamamoto Takeshi… a man too handsome, too kind, to have been meant for the life of a Vongola Guardian…

Anger bubbled up in the pit of Hibari's stomach. What was this? Why did he have this impossible urge to reach beneath that too-loose T-Shirt and feel at the sculpted, sword-carved muscles of the young man's chest? Why did he want so badly to feel those powerful arms wrapped around him once more, crushing inwards, squeezing him…?

Emotions, feelings Hibari did not recognize. His entire body was tingling.

The sensation ended as a soft cough tore through his body, making one of the monitors beep out of pace, distracting him. He whipped around, glaring at the disorderly machine, and then turned back to Yamamoto.

The boy was moving.

Slowly, Yamamoto lifted his head to gaze at Hibari. His face was befuddled, his eyes bleary with sleep. The dim, weak-willed expression brought Hibari's irritation back to the surface.

Without thinking about what he was doing, the tingling sensation still present and distracting in the pit of his stomach, Hibari brought his right tonfa down, hard, on Yamamoto's head. The baseball-nut cried out in pain, and Hibari felt a little glow. He smirked.

"Kami korosu…"


End file.
